


Lucky

by satb31



Series: 1,000 Follower Giveaway Fics [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Paris (City), junior year abroad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/pseuds/satb31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bossuet is spending part of his junior year in Paris, and coping with a long distance relationship with Joly, who is still back in the United States.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leighdadee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighdadee/gifts).



> Based on this prompt, from leighdadee: "Bossuet (with whoever you like, sis - I know you say you’re not too comfortable with writing him, so I’ll give mercy and let you play with others too, whoever you choose) … as for setting or such … lucky charms (however you want to take that - literal charms, the cereal, routines/rituals/etc, silly St. Patricks Day antics, whatever)."
> 
> I pondered this prompt for a long time, knowing I wanted to publish it on St. Patrick’s Day, and trying to think of a way to connect with Bossuet and the idea of lucky charms. For some reason, I kept coming back to the Jason Mraz/Colbie Caillat song “Lucky,” which is all about being in love with your best friend, despite the distance, and I came up with this.
> 
> For the best tumblr sister I could ever ask for.

In January Bossuet flew to Paris.

He was spending the second semester of his junior year in France — an experience he was excited about, even though it meant he would be an ocean away from his boyfriend Joly, whose pre-med studies precluded him from studying off campus.

“Don’t forget me,” Joly had pleaded, as they parted on the last day of exams before Christmas, embracing his boyfriend tightly and running his hands all over Bossuet’s body, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of his skin.

Bossuet chuckled. “I forget lots of things, but I could never forget you,” he had assured Joly with a bemused smile, knowing even as he said it that the words sounded as corny as they were heartfelt. He and Joly had been best friends since the early days of their freshman year, and lovers since they were sophomores — and they had never been apart for more than a few weeks at a time ever since. Bossuet often felt like a dark cloud followed him everywhere — he frequently would say if it weren’t for bad luck, he’d have no luck at all — but he felt extraordinarily lucky to have Joly, with all of his neuroses, in his life.

Now he had to make sure he didn’t screw it up in the months they would be apart.

The flight to Paris was mostly uneventful — Bossuet was stuck in a middle seat in the very back of the plane, but he ended up befriending the businessman who had the aisle seat and wound up with a long list of recommendations for places to eat and shop near his flat. The adventure began, however, when he landed at Charles de Gaulle and got held up at passport control over some confusion about his visa, and then he found out Air France had lost one of his two suitcases. Bossuet took it all in stride, and after filing a claim for his lost bag, he hailed a taxi to take him to his flat — a taxi ride that ended up being twice as long as it should have been, due to a misspelling in the street name that resulted in them going to a completely different arrondissement than he was supposed to be.

But eventually he made it to where he wanted to be. where he flopped on the tiny bed and fell asleep for three hours. When he awoke, he showered and put on clean clothes and walked out into the evening. He was already enamored with the city — but fervently wished Joly was there with him to share it with him.

“How’s Paris?” Joly asked, as they talked on Skype later that evening. Joly was back at school already, tucked under several blankets on his bed and stopping every few minutes to blow his runny nose. He desperately needed a haircut, and his nose was red from his cold — and Bossuet never loved him more than he did at that moment.

“Not the same without you,” Bossuet admitted, a smile creeping across his face.

**

In February Bossuet met a woman.

On a rainy Friday afternoon, Bossuet decided it was finally time for him to visit the Louvre. He had hesitated, as he was convinced he’d get lost in the maze of galleries and never find his way out. But on a free afternoon, he finally decided to take his chances and buy a ticket.

After wandering around the 19th century French painting galleries, he found himself completely transfixed by Gericault’s The Raft of the Medusa. The dark painting, with its grim tale of misfortune, appealed to Bossuet’s macabre side, and he took a seat on the bench opposite the painting and continued to stare at it.

“Grim, isn’t it?” came a female voice behind him.

Bossuet turned to see an attractive woman about his own age, dressed in a black turtleneck and capri pants, her light brown curls tied back in a loose ponytail and her mouth painted a deep red. “Revolting yet mesmerizing,” he replied with a chuckle. “Are you trying to sketch it?” he asked, nodding toward the sketchbook under her arm.

The young woman shrugged. “I’ve tried,” she said modestly. “But I am an art historian, not an artist.” She reached out her hand. “I’m Musichetta, by the way.”

Bossuet took her hand and bowed almost formally, instantly charmed by her. “I’m Lesgles, but everyone calls me Bossuet. And my boyfriend calls me Boss, but I think that’s only when he’s pissed at me.”

“Your boyfriend?” Musichetta asked, unable to hide her disappointment. “Is he here with you today?”

Bossuet shook his head. “No, he’s back in the States — last I heard from him he was trying to figure out if he was coming down with mono or something.”

Musichetta frowned. “Is he?” she asked.

Bossuet laughed. “Nah, just allergies. He’s a bit of a hypochondriac, especially when I’m not there to reassure him he’s not dying.” He paused for a moment, then blurted, “Would you like to get a coffee or something? I would love to hear more about your work — everything I know about art I know from my friend Grantaire rambling about Gros when he’s drunk, and it’s really not much.”

A small smile crept across Musichetta’s face. “I would like that — and perhaps then a tour? And then — we’ll go from there?”

Bossuet grinned and gallantly offered her his arm. “Absolutely, Mademoiselle,” he said. “Without a proper guide I’d be completely lost.”

They drank their cappuccinos, wandered through the galleries, laughed at the tourists taking selfies with with Mona Lisa, and lingered for three hours over dinner and wine at a bistro — a dinner that Musichetta ended up paying for when Bossuet discovered he had forgotten his credit card.

That night, when Bossuet finally straggled back to his flat, he turned on his laptop and logged into Skype for his nightly conversation with Joly.

“What did you do all day?” Bossuet asked, after describing his adventures with Musichetta.

Joly rolled his eyes. “Studied, mostly. Combeferre was here for a while studying. But I think we’re going out with Courfeyrac tonight.” He stopped for a moment to take a drink of his tea, which he was mainlining in order to keep the germs at bay. “I miss you, Bossuet,” Joly gulped.

“I miss you too,” Bossuet answered, kissing his fingers and touching his webcam — not wanting Joly to know that for the duration of his time with Musichetta he had barely given him a thought.

**

In March Joly came to Paris for spring break.

When Joly exited customs, tugging his ancient suitcase behind him, he grinned wildly as soon as he spotted Bossuet and practically ran up to him. The two men embraced for a long moment, not saying anything, and Joly buried his face in Bossuet’s shoulder. “So what are your plans for me?” Joly asked when they finally broke apart.

“Well, I figured I’d take you home and have my way with you,” Bossuet leered. “And then Musichetta’s going to come over and we’ll make dinner.”

“I can’t wait to meet this famous Chetta,” Joly mused as they exited the airport.

“You’ll love her,” Bossuet enthused. “And I know she’ll love you as much as I love you,” he said, slipping his arm around his boyfriend’s waist.

Bossuet was true to his word — from the moment Musichetta entered the flat, bearing all of the makings of a simple yet luscious dinner, Joly was so transfixed he completely forgot about the cold he’d sworn all afternoon he’d caught from his fellow passengers on the plane.

“So how long have you boys been together?” Musichetta asked casually, as she relaxed with a glass of wine and watched them clean up.

Bossuet glanced at Joly and grinned. “About a year or so, right?” he said. “I can never remember the date of our anniversary,” Bossuet admitted.

“March 17,” Joly replied, punching him on the arm. “Like, next week?” he said, turning to Musichetta. “We went to a St. Patrick’s Day party, and Bossuet got drunk—”

“I seem to recall you were pretty far gone too,” Bossuet interrupted.

“—and we hooked up.” Joly continued, shooting him an annoyed look. “We were best friends, and we both wanted something more, though we never knew it, and it just — happened.”

Musichetta laughed her tinkling laugh. “That’s how most wonderful things happen. They just—happen,” she said, rising from her chair and coming into the kitchen. She planted herself in front of Bossuet, crooked an arm around his neck and kissed him, reaching back with her free hand to take Joly’s hand. “Like this,” she said when she and Bossuet came up for air. “Or this,” she said suggestively, turning to face Joly and giving him a similarly intense kiss.

The two men exchanged glances — they had never contemplated going from a pair to a trio. But as the night progressed, they discovered that three heads — and mouths and other body parts — were better than two.

And when the week was over, both Bossuet and Musichetta took Joly back to the airport to see him off with hugs and kisses and promises to keep in touch.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” Musichetta remarked to Bossuet as Joly disappeared through security.

“I’ve never thought of myself that way,” Bossuet answered. “Just the opposite, actually.”

Musichetta shrugged. “Maybe your luck has changed,” she said.

**

In April Joly and Bossuet almost broke up.

After Joly left Paris, Bossuet and Musichetta kept spending more and more time together, alternately exploring the city outside and exploring each other inside. Bossuet still kept his Skype dates with Joly every night — but things were getting increasingly strained. Joly was stressed about taking the MCATs for the first time, and it was making him increasingly dyspeptic. It was clear that he was also unhappy about Bossuet’s continued dalliance with Musichetta — he would purse his lips at the mention of her name.

But it was spring in Paris, and Bossuet was enjoying himself — and he knew he’d be back with Joly in the States very soon. “He loves you,” Musichetta said to him one night as they walked along the banks of the Seine. “You’re his best friend in the world and he’s afraid you won’t come back to him and he’ll be all alone.”

“I could never not go back to Joly,” Bossuet confessed, taking her hand in his. “I’ve loved being with you — but next month you go back to Milan, and I go back to the States, and everything will be back to normal.”

But later that week, during their nightly Skype date, Bossuet asked Joly about the spring formal at the college, which was scheduled for that Saturday. “So are you all going as a group?” Bossuet asked nonchalantly, assuming their group of friends would be taking the opportunity to dress up and get ridiculously drunk.

“I actually have a date,” Joly confessed, looking away as he said it.

Bossuet’s heart was suddenly in his throat. “A date? A date with who?” he asked.

“I’m going with Prouvaire,” Joly replied, his eyes darting everywhere as he squirmed in his desk chair. “Everyone’s paired up right now — Combeferre’s going with Courfeyrac, of course, and Enjolras and Grantaire are actually speaking to each other at the moment — so I asked Prouvaire to go with me.” Joly shrugged. “It’s no big deal, really, but you’ve been so busy with Musichetta, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” Bossuet said through gritted teeth. “Just make sure Prouvaire doesn’t get all flirty with you,” he joked half-heartedly, although he had always suspected Prouvaire had been nursing a huge crush on Joly for the past year.

Joly laughed — but on the night of the formal, Bossuet and Joly didn’t have their Skype date for the first time since Bossuet arrived in Paris.

And Joly wasn’t on Skype for the next three days afterwards.

Bossuet found himself tied up in knots over it, picturing Joly at the formal with Prouvaire, both looking so handsome in their suits, as they laughed and drank and danced — and envisioning them stumbling back to the dorm and tumbling into bed together. It would be just his luck to be getting his heart broken in one of the most romantic cities on the planet.

When they finally connected, Joly was maddeningly elusive and Bossuet was feeling waspish, so the conversation quickly degenerated into a series of thinly veiled barbs that ended abruptly and without their usual declarations of love.

And the normally unrattled Bossuet was unnerved.

Over the next week, they didn’t Skype at all — partially due to their pseudo-argument, partially due to the fact that Bossuet had managed to spill tea on his laptop and needed to get it repaired — he found himself wandering the streets of Paris, his mind scattered as he contemplated all of the possible scenarios, none of them good. He said his farewells to Musichetta, who was heading back to Italy to finish her research on her dissertation — and found himself adrift and alone, feeling as if he’d lost a limb without Joly to talk to anymore.

Finally, several days later, Bossuet got his computer back, and he logged in to see a message from Joly, telling him he loved him and how he couldn’t wait until he came back home.

“Do you love Musichetta more than you love me?” Joly asked, when they finally talked.

Bossuet scoffed at the idea. “Of course not, Joly — I mean, I adore her. We both do. But she was just a fling, something you and I shared once, you know?” He hesitated for a moment, then asked the question he had been dying to ask for the past two weeks. “Whatever happened between you and Prouvaire?”

Joly shook his head. “Nothing, really — I mean, I thought about it, I really did. And I was so angry with you, and I thought you were in love with Musichetta, I was tempted, but —” Joly paused, trying to find the right words. “It was nothing,” he finally said quietly, not looking up.

Bossuet nodded. “So we’re good?” he asked tentatively.

“We’re good,” Joly replied, his voice firm as he looked directly at the camera — and blew him a small kiss.

**

In May Bossuet flew home.

He was assigned to a better seat for the plane ride home, although he managed to spill a cup of coffee on his pants, and the airline lost his other suitcase this time. He spent a few days with his family, then ventured back to campus, hoping to surprise Joly, who was finishing up his exams and wasn’t expecting to see Bossuet until after he was done.

Bossuet managed to sweet talk his way into Joly’s dorm, and stealthily made his way to Joly’s room. He peeked inside the open door, where Joly was sitting at his desk with his back to him, reading his textbook, one leg crossed over the other as he bent over his work.

Bossuet leaned against the door frame silently and watched his boyfriend for a couple of minutes, never feeling as much love for him as he did in that moment. “I’m home,” he finally said.

Joly turned around and stared at him in disbelief, then leaped out of his chair and enveloped Bossuet in a bear hug. They laughed and kissed and cried, their joy at being back in the same country almost palpable. The challenges they’d faced in the previous month were almost forgotten as they clung to each other, their foreheads touching as they gazed at each other, safe in the knowledge they wouldn’t be so far away from each other any time soon.

“What did I do to deserve you, Boss?” Joly murmured, rubbing his nose against Bossuet’s.

Bossuet smiled at the familiar nickname. “Just lucky, I guess,” he said.


End file.
